Before leaving Calcutta I stocked up on some essentials - razor blades, biscuits endorsed by Sachin Tendulkar and 110m of toilet paper called the 'high hurdle' roll - and made for Howrah train station with an Australian bloke heading the same way. This was going to be my first experience on an Indian train so I was a little apprehensive. The Amritsar Mail train takes about 40 hours to reach Amritsar in the northwest but I was getting off at Varanasi, about 15 hours from Calcutta. Just as well because I worked out that so far on this trip I have spent 288 hours on trains, or twelve full days watching the world change slowly outside the window. Some trains have been better than others. As far as sleepers go this one wasn't too bad but I was awoken at 5:30am to find four people sitting on my bed reading the newspaper and drinking tea. They weren't there when I went to sleep the previous night and must of got on at the last stop. "Where the hell did you all come from?" I said. They just laughed and offered me some tea so I accepted and asked them if they knew the cricket result from the night before. They didn't.
I arranged to meet Beppe in Varanasi so trusting his directions I caught a rickshaw to the Assi Ghat and looked around for the temple overlooking the Ghat. There I was to find a Pizzeria and ask the manager for a message left by an Italian man in a dodgy cap. Sure enough I found the Pizzeria and the manager produced a note from Beppe with the name of his guesthouse and directions on how to get there. When I say directions the note said, "It's not far from here, just ask some people." I found the Anami Guesthouse relatively quickly (it was literally right next door) but Beppe himself was entirely unwell and did not want to get out of bed. Beppe had done some good work and the room only cost us Rs125 each. He didn't look his usual chipper self but after a couple of days in bed he was back to normal again.
Varanasi (Banares) on the shores of the Ganges
BED OF FLAMES
[This next bit is slightly disturbing. Reader discretion is advised]
I walked north from the guesthouse along the waterfront through different ghats and past numerous alleys leading back into the city. I wanted to get to one of the burning ghats to witness a public cremation but as with many things in this trip, what I saw was very different to what I expected. Or maybe it was that I wasn't prepared to see what I did and didn't know how to react.
I reached Harishchandra Ghat and noticed smoke coming from the riverbank. There were maybe twenty people milling around what looked like a very large pile of smoking wood, two people prodding the pile with large bamboo sticks, a few dogs hanging back a safe distance. Inside the woodpile I saw what was unmistakably a human body covered in a white shroud. Jutting out from the end was a pair of feet loosely covered with cloth. Within a few minutes the cloth around the feet burns away and the flesh can be seen clearly.
Closer to the ghat another man builds a bed of logs on which the next body is to be placed. He carefully places the logs so as to allow air circulation and easy access to the bottom so that the fire could be started. Beside the river two people gently lower a shrouded body into the Ganges and set it back on the riverbank. Prior to cremation each corpse is dipped in the Ganges and left to dry for a few minutes. The river is fetid with all kinds of rubbish, but it is the holy Ganges.
Further away another man tends to a smaller pile of burnt wood and ash. He probes it with a stick and pulls something aside. I can't make out what is it at first. He moves the logs around and tries to encourage the flames to lick up again. Then he places the thing back on the flames. It's a partially charred head and torso. No one is paying attention to this cremation anymore and the man is going about his business with the bamboo pole with scant regard to what is happening elsewhere. A cow is lying beside him and a few dogs look on with interest.
One of the cremations beside the Ganges
The first body is almost completely incinerated after twenty minutes but for the head and torso. Maybe this is common but it could be that the wind is coming from the north, which is the same way the head is pointing, taking the flames away towards the feet. There are no tears. There is very little in the way of ceremony, just a few sprinkles of river water every now and then and people look on, as you would watch a television show.
The body by the river is brought to the newly created woodpile, lifted from the bamboo stretcher and placed on top. The shroud is thin and I can tell that this is the body of a young man; he still wears his gold watch. They pour some kind of liquid over the shroud and sprinkle a fine brown powder that acts as an accelerant. Half a dozen more logs are placed on the corpse. A man lights some straw with hot embers from a prior cremation and walks around the body three or four times before pushing the straw underneath the logs. Slowly the flames begin to build around the corpse but I can't watch this one. The shroud burns away too quickly, well before the skin is even charred. It's awful. It stinks.
The smaller pile burns down and thankfully the head and torso are gone. But the dogs hang around and begin to sniff around the smoldering remains. Within the hour the first body is completely incinerated too. A man starts to build another bed of logs in its place. More shrouded bodies are being dipped in the river.
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